The Mystery of Monastery Farm

by H. R. Naylor

"No, sir," was the reply. "He has gone to Centerville, but will return by noon."

"Well," said the bishop, "we really came to see you. You play the organ, and we are minus an organist at our chapel services. Mr. Keyes, our organist, we have just learned, has been taken suddenly ill and is in the hospital. Can you serve us until he returns?"

"I hardly know how to answer you, Bishop," replied Carl, hesitatingly. "I am working for Mr. Sparrow; and, besides, I have had no practice, with the exception of last evening, for a long time, which is, of course, a serious disadvantage. But if Mr. Sparrow does not object, I will do the best I can for you."

The end of the matter was that that evening Carl conducted all the musical services in the chapel.

The news soon spread abroad that remarkable music could be heard in the Monastery, and the people flocked there from outside to hear it, and the spacious chapel became crowded at even the everyday services. This new organist improvised such harmonies as they had never heard before. And this inspiration seemed to touch the faculty as each member of it took his turn in conducting the services. Bishop Albertson preached as never before. He seemed to almost ignore his notes as he talked to the people, and the people in turn manifested a devoutness never witnessed before by a Monastery congregation. Dr. Ezra Day had ever been a favorite, but the present hour brought him a far greater degree of popularity. The veteran Dr. Peregrine Worth also preached as never before. Indeed, everything seemed to receive new life; the old monotony had departed; something new had come. What was it? Was this what the Methodists called a revival?

So marked and intense was this feeling that a meeting of the faculty and trustees was called. Was this a modern Pentecost? So Worth said; so Cummings thought. A great meeting was held for consultation and the people were publicly invited. Everyone declared a church should be organized. The bishop was in favor of this, and at the proper time one hundred and eighteen persons presented themselves as candidates for confirmation. Up to this time what was known as Monastery was simply a scientific and theological seminary. Its faculty was composed of educated clergymen. It was a college with a bishop as president, supported by the church at large and the products of the farm, having a board of trustees to hold and manage the estate according to the laws of the commonwealth. Now it was to become an organized parish church and, in addition, the center of a diocese. The bishop was to assume the duties of the rector, with the members of the faculty as his assistants, and the trustees were incorporated as the "Board of Trustees of Monastery Church and College," according to law. This was a new regime for Bishop Albertson, who, years before, had been rector of a small parish in Virginia. Even at that time he was a rigid churchman and a profound scholar, and because of these and other qualifications he had unexpectedly been elevated to the episcopal office. Soon after this well-merited promotion he had been earnestly requested to take this young seminary under his care and superintendence, and had cheerfully accepted this added responsibility. From that time he had made Monastery his home and the headquarters of his diocese. It continued to be "a school of the prophets" during ten years, when it was granted a university charter and it became a school of classics as well as theology. No one ever felt disappointed at this appointment of Bishop Albertson to the presidency of the institution, which under his care had grown from a small seminary with seventeen students to its present proportions and standing in the state. Now there were seventy-two theological students and two hundred and forty-five in the classical and scientific courses. This had been done under the fostering care and superintendency of the present incumbent. This institution had been simply a high-grade school of classics and theology, principally the latter. Experimental religion had but a small place in its curriculum or life. "Thou shalt not" of the Old Testament was strictly taught and demanded of all. But "Thou shalt" of the New Testament was rarely thought of, much less practiced. So apparent was this that critical observers used to say of it: "Here is where they have neither religion nor politics." And this local adage was literally true. The highest morality was practiced and demanded, but the dogmas which insisted upon the regeneration of the heart and life were very sparingly taught. Morality in its highest life was demanded of all, but the inner life was left to take care of itself.

But now, something had happened; here was a change. Even the organ spoke with a new voice; the prayer book meant more than it had in the past—everything spoke with a new tongue. Here was an amount of emotion that was new and strange, and the responses in the services were more prompt and fervent. The bishop ceased to read his sermons and talked as one who had authority. His voice was more distinct. The audiences heard him as never before. Several of the professors who had always been spoken of as unattractive and uninteresting became exactly the reverse. Young men were found praying in their rooms. In one of them the bishop was heard leading a score of young men in prayer. Old-fashioned and old-time hymns were sung, fervent responses were heard, and scores of persons from roundabout professed to have found Christ. During six weeks this wonderful influence was felt. It extended for miles throughout the country. During that time four hundred persons took upon themselves the obligations of the Christian profession and Monastery Church became a great power through the county.

Mr. Keyes, the organist, had died in the hospital, and Carl had been appointed in his place as organist and musical director. He very soon organized a choir of forty persons. And this was not all that added responsibility to this young man's life. The bishop, realizing the growing responsibilities of his work, appointed him his private secretary, which necessarily took him away from all the work on the farm; but even this did not separate him from the farmhouse. He continued to sleep there in "Carl and Tom's room," and, excepting during school hours, wherever you found Carl Tom was not far away.

The grand old man, Dr. George Thorndyke, who gave three hundred acres of land for a "school for prophets," little dreamed that his gift was to develop to such proportions, and become, also, a great influential church, a great center of religious influence, whose power would be felt miles around.

But the college chapel was neither fit nor large enough for the demands which were now pressing upon it. They must have a building capacious and suitable in which to worship. And now the true character of the great revival was seen in the prompt responses of the people; more generous were they than the ancient people who built the temple, and in the course of a few months a large and beautiful church was erected capable of seating twelve hundred people. As this building neared completion the building committee began to prepare for its dedication. The chief clergyman to be invited was an old friend and classmate of Bishop Albertson—Bishop McLaren, of Durham, England. There was to be, of course, select music; the singing must not be inferior to that which Bishop McLaren listened to in his cathedral home. Carl was told that the Durham singers were known throughout the kingdom as superb, and he must do his best in drilling his choir.